


Life is Cruel Sometimes

by xNinjaGurl50



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author needs more espresso and less depresso, Cafe Owner!Virgil, Child!Patton, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, May add to this?, May make an actual story?, Morality | Patton Sanders Needs a Hug, Morality | Patton Sanders-centric, Other, Virgil is a good dad, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 09:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xNinjaGurl50/pseuds/xNinjaGurl50
Summary: Run… Run run! Don’t let him catch you! Patton’s feet pattered on the soaked cement beneath him, not caring as he splashed himself or got soaked in the torrent. He had to escape. He could faintly hear the sound of thundering footsteps behind him through the blood rushing in his ears. His breath was ragged, his clothes torn and blood dripping from open wounds, both old and new. Patton whimpered as he held onto his arm in distress, his whole tiny body shaking from fear, adrenaline, and coldness combined.





	Life is Cruel Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tired, and Roman just had a burst of creativity at like 11 PM on a Thursday, so here we go! I always wanted to make a whole series with a baby Patton. I think it is too adorable... and angsty at times. May or may not make this into a series, and may or may not add to this. Who knows. Enjoy my sleep deprived angst!

_Run… Run run! Don’t let him catch you!_ Patton’s feet pattered on the soaked cement beneath him, not caring as he splashed himself or got soaked in the torrent. He had to escape. He could faintly hear the sound of thundering footsteps behind him through the blood rushing in his ears. His breathing was ragged, his clothes torn and blood dripping from open wounds, both old and new. Patton whimpered as he held onto his arm in distress, his whole tiny body shaking from fear, adrenaline, and coldness combined. The crisp cold shattered through his senses, overwhelming the small child. He ran as fast as his little legs could take him. 

He couldn’t let daddy get him again. He didn’t want to go back. He wanted mommy. _He wanted--_ He tripped over a broken pipe in the alleyway, screaming a high-pitched screech as the rusted and broken metal cut into the skin of his leg. He couldn’t stop though. He had to keep going. He knew he couldn’t outrun his daddy, but he had to try. He continued, whimpering as he ran, limping slightly. He stifled his sobs with his little hand, covering his mouth as best as he could. Pure terror and misery settled deep in his stomach and chest, the heat of the feelings battling the chilling drizzle left on his skin, easily soaking through his thin clothes. He only hoped he could blame the rain for his tears, so daddy would be nicer on him this time.

His poor 4-year-old mind didn’t quite understand what was happening at the moment. His eyes were dilated, most senses numbed like his leg as he barrelled on, confused on his new-found strength, but to busy attempting an escape to bother thinking about it too much.  He ran in near darkness, the dim lights of broken flickering lamps betraying and encouraging him simultaneously. He could hear his father’s footsteps falter in the darkness, the clouds and downpour inhibiting his vision just enough for Patton to get a lead. Then, he saw it. Rounding yet another corner, a brightly lit store beckoned him inside, where warmth and safety would reside. He ran towards it, using the last bit of his strength as his adrenaline waned. He was long past sobs, instead, giving little squeaky hiccups. He was about to burst into frustrated cries at the noise that would attract daddy when he reached the shop. He could barely recognize his surroundings as his shakey noodle-like legs gave out underneath him. He let out a little screech as the sensations returned in his leg, falling brutally on the tile, the white-hot pain pulsing through his leg. His whole body was sore with old and new bruises, cuts that took weeks to heal opened up from the unrelenting struggle. He instantly got dizzy, his mind screaming, yet quiet as well. His vision looked like the rain sliding down the windows like waves upon shores that Patton only got to see in his glimpses of the tv while daddy slept, his bottle still tilting back and forth from the drop. Patton sprawled out, crumpled on whatever he was on. Carpet? Cement? Slime? Water? He couldn’t tell with the constant pain. He whimpered, curling into himself, letting out squeaky hiccups as he sobbed. 

He couldn’t focus on his mind but knew that it was game over. Daddy would be there any second to drag him back home, hurt him, then lock him up for being naughty. He let out an anguished scream as a hand touched his leg, near the cut. The hand was gentle but instantly recoiled at the sound that left the small child's bleeding chapped lips. Patton barely had time to wonder the strange nature of a touch meant to be rough, before slipping into a numb state, his vision fading. Not that he minded.

* * *

 

 

Patton would have rathered have woken up slowly, in his bed with his too thin, threadbare blankie and his dirty ripped teddy, one of the few nice days he got to wake up to, where daddy was gone. Instead, he was thrust back into his cold, aching body, sitting up in panic. He looked around, expecting to see his usual dull cracked walls of his closet he didn’t even get to call a room. Instead, he was set on something softer than his bed. He felt with his hand subconsciously as he tried to blink the blur from his eyes, not even noticing his cracked glasses were gone from his face. He looked down, seeing one of the booth seats he only got to see in windows as he passed by on the few times he could remember from his mother. He had always wanted to know how they felt like, spent much time dreaming about it as he watched children eat sweet cookies and hug their parents. He didn’t understand what was happening at the time, seeing all of this, but unable to have what they did, no matter how hard his mother had tried. 

He had only known something close to that with his mother, who died not long ago. She was his only protector in life. The only one who could give those hugs to him, although shakily, in fear of his father. Now she was stolen from him. Because he was a bad boy. Daddy had said it himself. So he got punished for causing mommy to go away. Tears welled in his eyes again, curling up as he attempted to keep focus on the world. He would only truly focus for a few seconds before his eyes would glaze over with memories and thoughts of how much he deserved what he got. 

He was shocked out of his stupor when the red and blue lights flashed, shining and glaring at him through the window. He hated the red and blue lights. He curled into himself, covering his ears with his tiny hands as the errant sounds berated his little ears. Everything was starting to become too much for him. The stinging in his leg, the throb of his whole body, every sensation seemed to increase tenfold, till the soft plush leather of the booth turned to stinging, rough material that scratched at his skin. He didn’t know what to do. He never did. There was no way to stop the pain that always came back, always increased. So, he did what he had learned was best to do in these situations. Become as small as he could, and wait the pain out. 

He didn’t know how long it had been, as he had been in and out of his head sporadically in fast intervals. It wasn’t until he realized someone was close to him, their hand outstretched that he also noticed the sirens and lights were gone. He instantly flinched away from the hand, curling back into his ball. He waited for the hit to come. For the agonizing grip to pull his arm and drag him across the broken glass and cigarette butts from the repulsive streets. But nothing came. He was shaking slightly when he slowly removed his arm from his eyes, baby blue meeting mocha brown. The man smiled, holding out what looked like his glasses. He reached a small shaking hand towards it, sluggishly, as if asking for silent permission. When the adult didn’t move, he quickly snatched the glasses from his hands, hastily, shoving it on his face. 

He could see the man clearer now, although not perfect due to the large crack that slashed down the lens from the time his father threw a clock at him for some reason. Patton could never discern what his father said with his slurred speech that came from the bad bottle. The man smiled gently at him, his hands out in a placating manner. Despite all of Patton’s instincts that had been built up, becoming calloused into his being from multiple mistakes of trust, he felt calm around this man. He didn’t reach out for that hand, though. He stared at the adult, wondering when it would happen. When that small, mellow smile would turn into the sharp, cutting smirk. Waited for those soft mocha eyes to darken to the brown of malicious dogs as they snarled. It never happened. Before he could even think about making an escape by somehow squeezing under the table and out of the door, the man spoke.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s ok now. That man is gone. The good guys took him away. You are safe.” Patton felt a thrill of relief wash over him, but his gut told him it wasn’t true. He was lying. He gave the man a look of disbelief.

“Daddy?” The man was taken back by Patton’s response before his smile turned into a quiver, and his cheeks turned a strawberry pink.

“I… you want your father?” Patton shook his head.

“Daddy.” He said it with such confidence as if it made total sense while pointing out the door. The man blinked once, before looking back at the door, the glass shattered from the man who attempted to attack a small  _ child _ . It clicked. 

“That was your dad?” Patton nodded. The man felt extremely foolish, running a hand through his hair. Patton was instantly drawn to the plum locks, without thinking, reaching out to touch it. It was a light touch, barely felt by the man. Patton’s face morphed into terror, ripping his hand back as if he had touched fire. Fat tears slid down his cheeks like waterfalls as he clutched his hand to his chest, nearly short of screaming.

“IM SORRY! IM SORRY! I DIDN’T MEAN TO! IM SO SORRY! IM BAD! IM SORRY!” He sobbed. He’d done it now. Here came the hit. But yet again, nothing came. He opened his eyes after a minute, seeing the man frozen in place. He swiftly broke from his statue-like state, instantly trying to calm the child.

“Shhh, it’s ok. I’m not mad. Breath for me, ok?” The man made huge dramatic breaths to show Patton, who shakily followed. After his breathing had gained some stability, he looked at the man curiously.

“You... aren’t mad…?” The man gained that smile again, slowly sitting in the seat next to Patton. He tensed up but had nothing else to say. The man turned to him carefully.

“Nah, I’m not mad. Would you like to touch it again?” Patton’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, his hand outstretched, but stayed in midair as he hesitated. He finally gave in to his curiosity, his other half screaming that he would regret it later. As his hand touched the downy fluffy hair, he couldn’t help the happy squeal that escaped his lips. He was too enamored by the strange colored hair, he didn’t mind the close proximity to an adult that could hurt him at any minute. Before he knew it, he crawled onto the man’s lap, still running his hands in wonder at it. When he looked down, he was inches from the man’s face, his arms loosely around Patton’s torso. Despite the position, he didn’t feel fear. Instead, he threw his arms around the man’s neck and held on for dear life. He finally felt safe, though not quite convinced he’d be able to keep it. He was a bad boy, he couldn’t keep good things. The man hugged him gingerly, making sure his tone was light, and his volume low.

“My name’s Virgil. And you are?” Patton sniffled, burrowing his head into the neck of the stranger.

“P-Patton.” Virgil smiled, bouncing Patton slightly in his grip. "Everything is going to be fine, Patton…” He held the boy close to his chest as sirens of an ambulance arrived outside the little cozy shop.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I always love adding a lot of details in my writing. I just love imagining that crisp cold soaking into your very bones through descriptions. One of the reasons I love writing/reading. Have a very nice Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night! Don't let the demon of procrastination get your Roman!


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